


Sabbatical Retreat

by Niullum



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Gift Exchange, Hurt/Comfort, Sorry Not Sorry, Teasing, This story is soft™, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niullum/pseuds/Niullum
Summary: “Where’s everyone?”“Alfred is on his sabbatical, Damian’s with your brother. As to Jason, he’s probably…”“Doing Jason’s things?” Tim finishes with a tired smile, re-accommodating his head into the nearest pillow.With Alfred gone to his annual sabbatical retreat, Bruce Wayne is left in charge of the manor. One afternoon he finds Tim—who he hasn't seen in a while after he had to leave for an urgent mission—napping in the living room
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 205
Collections: BatFam Winter Gift Exchange 2020





	Sabbatical Retreat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ErinNovelist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinNovelist/gifts).



> Hi there! Erin, I’m so sorry for the delay in your gift, life has been absolutely crazy. Big shout out to the wonderful [Bumpkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumpkin) for helping me with the story and to my beautiful friend [Kay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/graysonsflight/pseuds/graysonsflight) who organized this event (please check both of their work! They're amazing!). This is sadly un-beta, but I made it with lots of love.
> 
> Hope you still like it! Enjoy <3
> 
> _Name: Erin_  
>  _Fav character: Tim Drake_  
>  _Three Favorite relationships (romo and non-romo marked): Tim & Dick, Tim & Bruce, Jason & Tim._  
>  _What are three things you love to see? (Think tropes or moods) Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, or Time Travel_  
>  _Any important nopes? Sickfic_  
> 
> 
> * * *

There have been a few occasions where Bruce has the privilege of having the night off. Usually, there’s always _something_ going on (either a board meeting, a catastrophe that could potentially endanger everyone, an off-world mission with the rest of the League) that involves staying away from home.

This time there’s no way he can go out and patrol. Not unless he wants to stall his progress and extend his recovery, something that he’s definitely _not_ looking forward to. The past few weeks, bedridden and subjected to his kids and butler’s endless fuzzing as he recuperated from his injuries, have left him in this restless mood.

He missed doing patrol. He missed hearing constant bickering between Damian and Tim, Oracle’s ongoing monologue about ´ _it's left! Not right! How many times do I have to tell you that?´_ or even Jason’s (or Dick, depending on who was there to patrol) horrible puns.

He missed it, and _terribly._

Alfred had told him countless times that this vigilante life was like an addiction, and Bruce was starting to see that. The thought of having to stay another _week_ doing _nothing_ was close to maddening. And to think all of this happened due to a fight that culminated with a bruised low back.

Ah, the _wonders_ of battling meta humans.

“We’ve arrived, sir,” the driver says, bringing him back to reality. He raises his gaze and meets the familiar sight of the gates, already welcoming back. Bruce nods in response, opens the door, and mutters a quick _thanks_. He’s technically almost healed up from the bruises, but there’s this slight feeling of discomfort from walking.

 _(“You were lucky this time Bruce_ ,” _Leslie said while he explained while pointing at all the dark and white spaces of the X-ray taken._ “ _A bit more force, and you would have been left without feeling your lower legs.”_

_“I’ll make sure to pass the message to Crock next time.”_

_“ **Bruce**.”_)

The slow-paced walk to the door is short and brief. It gives him enough time to glance at the garden Alfred’s fond of. It’s one of the few things Alfred left him in charge before he went on his annual sabbatical leave. Now, it’s not Bruce’s first time being left in charge of the house. It’s a tradition the Wayne family must submit to every year, but that doesn’t erase the worry of failing to keep up to Alfred's expectations.

The thought of disappointing Alfred sits heavily on his mind. Trust him, there are few things Bruce fears in this world and one of them is dealing with Alfred’s wrath. For being an elderly man, Alfred sure has a temper.

As Dick has jokingly said in the past, _‘Alfred is not someone to mess up with_ ’ and it’s not that far from the truth. Bruce has seen with his own eyes what happens to those who fail to keep Alfred’s expectation. It’s not pleasant.

Terrifying actually, but don’t tell Alfred that.

Bruce fumbles with finding the keys in his hand before opening the door. Instead of the chatter, Bruce’s so accustomed to, there’s silence. He lets out a resigned sigh, cleans his feet at the entrance, and enters. The hallway and the rest of the many rooms in this place are deserted.

Not hearing his ten-year-old son's voice welcoming him with that clipped “ _Father_ ” tone is a strange thing to get accustomed to, but Bruce didn’t have the heart to tell Damian no when he asked to stay with Dick for the rest of the week. Hopefully, by the end of it, Damian will grow tired of Blüdhaven and demand to be back here.

Or if Dick doesn’t call him and ask for him to retrieve Damian first. He’s two steps in when he hears a large canine rushing to greet him.

“Hello boy,” he says warmly, taking the time to scratch Titus behind the ear. The excited tail wagging manages to crack out a smile out of him. “Guess it’s just the two of us now, huh?”

The rest of the trip is done with Titus by his side. A brief glance to the nearest clock informs him it’s time for dinner and Bruce stops, mentally calculating how exactly he’s going to approach this as he nears the kitchen.

Anything that doesn’t mean dealing with his biggest enemy (the oven) more than necessary. After the last incident that ended up with the oven on _fire_ , Bruce’s not quite sure of his culinary abilities anymore. He shrugs and enters the living room.

He doesn’t want to tempt fate, anyway.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t see the mop of black hair hidden under some covers. He’s too concentrated on thinking about what he’s going to do to hear the (almost imperceptible) soft snores coming out of there. It’s only when he’s about to sit, after letting Titus loose in the backyard, that he notices someone sleeping on the sofa, snoring without a care in the world.

His hands reach out to uncover him and once he does, it takes less than a fraction of a second to distinguish who it is. The black hair and the costume seem all too familiar. A soft smile appears on his face at the sight of his third son, Tim.

It’s been a few days since Bruce last saw Tim after he had to leave for a mission. _Important!_ Bruce remembered Tim yelling as he put his costume and whatever clothes he could find into a gym bag while avoiding Jason’s headlock on his way down the cave.

The two blue eyes glancing up at him in confusion makes something like fondness swell up in his heart. The ‘ _Hello’_ is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s Tim who decides to go first with his slightly slurred and half-asleep _Bruce?_

“Hello Tim,” Bruce says, uncovering the sleepy teenager and to his bemusement, Tim’s fingers subconsciously clutch the cover as his life depends on it.

“Had a good sleep?”

There’s a pause as Tim processes the information and does a hand gesture that Bruce interprets as _so-so_.

“Chum?” Bruce asks, ruffling his son’s hair. The confused, _huh?_ Makes him chuckle. He sits next to him, ignoring the slight flare of discomfort that goes through him when he moves too fast.

“How did your mission go?”

“Good,” Tim croaks out and rubs his eyes.“Finished a while ago and thought I could visit you guys before going home. Speaking of which,” He looks around and cocks his head, puzzled. “Where’s everyone?”

“Alfred is on his sabbatical, Damian’s with your brother. As to Jason, he’s probably…”

“Doing Jason’s things?” Tim finishes with a tired smile, re-accommodating his head into the nearest pillow.

“Something like that,” Bruce says, stroking Tim’s hair with one hand to which Tim simply _melts_ at the touch. “Had a long ride?”

“Something like that,” Tim mumbles back, sleepily. He arches his back and stretches before curling up again on the sofa like Damian’s cat. For some strange reason Tim had always gotten offended at the comparison. Then he cracks one eye open as if he’d remembered something very important, all hints of sleepiness gone in an instant. “When will Alfred get back?”

“A few weeks,” Bruce replies with a vague hand gesture. “Three, if my estimations are correct.”

“And they,” Tim trails off, unsure. It’s comical seeing how Tim’s finding the least offending words. So much that Bruce has to bite his cheek in order to not break his _I’m-serious-character._ “Left you _alone?_ ”

“I can take care of _myself_ just fine.”

“Mmm,” Tim says, his nose wrinkling, unsure. He covers himself _again,_ rests his head against a pillow and quickly changes the topic, “How’s your back? Dick told me they had to get you on the good stuff-”

“Remind me to have a talk later with your brother,” he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course, Dick (of all people) would keep Tim updated about his health. ” I hope they didn’t hack in the medical system _again_.”

“Hacking is our way to express our love,” Tim says with a tired grin, “And Alfred told Dick by the way.”

Bruce heaves out a long weary sigh and mumbles something like ‘ _Betrayed by my own butler’_ under his breath that only makes Tim’s grin grow wider.

“How are _you_?”

Tim blinks, losing the grin, and points at himself.

“Me?” He asks in question and Bruce rolls his eyes and ruffles his hair.

“Yes, sleepyhead.”

“First of all, fact _número uno_ ,” He starts, crossing his arms. Bruce would have mistaken Tim of being _offended_ at the name if it wasn’t for the yawn. “Name is Tim. Not sleepyhead.”

“Fact _número_ _dos_ ,” Bruce continues, raising a finger and bops his nose, making Tim blink, “you’re avoiding the question.”

“Fine, I’m… tired,” Tim replies after a pause, mulling over the words. There’s this slight hesitancy after the questions, the brief hitch in his words that sits _wrong_ with Bruce. “Just tired.”

“Long mission?” Bruce asks in sympathy and Tim nods. It’s only a matter of taking a quick glance at him to see the exhaustion. He’s pale and there are these eye bags under his eyes that make Bruce wonder when was the last time Tim got a good amount of sleep.

Tim whistles and shakes his head.

“You have no idea. _The longest week_ of my life.”

“Clark told me it wouldn’t take more than a few days,” Bruce says, arching an eyebrow. ” Four at most.”

“We had a delay. Took us more than we would have liked,” Tim says with a yawn and props himself against the nearest. “I missed my _bed_. Never knew how loud a super could _snore_.”

“Maybe it’s a super thing? Clark also snores,” Bruce mused out, “You can sleep here if you would like.”

“I thought Damian had transformed my room into Titus’s playground by now,” Tim says jokingly, to which Bruce scoffs. “Kon says hi, by the way.”

“I’m glad, Tim,” Bruce starts. “The mission went well?”

“Yeah. It was way more than we expected. I-” Tim stops, then shakes his head, _again_. “Sorry,” Tim apologizes and offers him a smile as to cover him up. “Anyway, what are you-

“Tim,” Bruce interrupts. “Did something happen?”

Tim hesitates, being that his first mistake.

“No, nothing happened,” Tim tells him, but the words are too quick for Bruce to believe it. There’s this slight _off_ tone that made Bruce’s furrow deepen.“Everything went okay, I guess. There were only a few mishaps along the way,” he says hurriedly. “That’s all-”

“Mishaps…?”

“We… we didn’t manage to save everyone,” Tim mutters, eyes cast on the ground. “There was this woman with her daughter. Her name was,” his voice ends up cracking. “Matilda.”

“ _Oh,_ Tim…” Bruce starts sympathetically and Tim shakes his head.

“She was only five years old,” he swallows and continues in this barely audible voice, “and oh, Bruce, she was _tiny_. She was wearing these tiny red boots,” Tim held his fingers a few inches apart, indicating the size. When Tim glanced back at Bruce, his eyes were barely holding back the tears.

_“Tim-”_

” We got ambushed on our way back and then Bart-” Tim says. “Bart tried to save them, but we were outnumbered and-

“Oh chum,” Bruce says, placing a hand over his knee and _squeezed_. “I’m sorry-”

“Her mother kept repeating her name asking where she was and there was blood,” Tim takes this deep breath, and it’s there when Bruce realizes he’s close to crying “so much blood and-I, we… didn’t know what to say.”

“Tim, it’s not-.”

“I didn’t have the guts to tell her what happened,” the words came out faster as if Tim was afraid to say then. ” And then she started screaming when she saw her daughter wasn’t there and-and. It’s my fault she’s _dead,_ it’s my fault, she-”

“ _Tim_ ,” Bruce interrupted and Tim stopped right on his track. “Can you look at me?”

Bruce asks and waits for Tim to raise his head. “I know it feels like it’s your fault right now, but I can assure you it’s not.”

“I was leading the team this time, Bruce,” Tim says, balling his fist. He took a deep breath, but even then his voice trembled with emotions, “I took the risk. I should have seen this coming-”

“We may have all the resources, experience, and help on our side, but we can only do so much. You’re human. This like this _happens._ I’m sure you and your team tried the best that you could do in the circumstances.”

“She was just a _kid_.”

“The fact that you’re crying shows that you care,” Bruce says and wraps his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Chum. This type of incident never gets easy. ”

“Sorry for dumping this here,” Tim admits shakily, wiping whatever treacherous tears escaped from his eyes with his sleeve. “I promised I would keep this to myself. I should probably go now-”

“I’m glad you told me,” Bruce admits, rubbing his back. “And this is your home too Tim, you’re free to visit and stay whenever you want to,” he says, draping an arm around Tim’s shoulder. “You’ll always be welcomed here.”

A pause before Bruce continued.

“In fact, I would love it if you could stay,” he says, offering him a tentative smile. ” I’m sure Damian’s got his DVD collection somewhere around here-”

“You don’t mind?” Tim said, unsure.

“Of course not,” Bruce reassures him, looking at him with a smile. “You’re my son.”

Tim flushes, breaking eye contact.

“Something the matter?”

“No, it’s just,” Tim starts, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “ It’s been a while since someone called me that. Anyway, are you hungry? Because I’m _starving_.”

“We could order some food. Unless,” Bruce trails off. “You want me to cook-

“Nope!” Tim intercepts, two steps ahead. In less than a minute, he jumps out of the couch. “Not taking any chances! Also, are you sure you’re Bruce?,” he waves at his face and Bruce rolls his eyes, ” you know a man in his _early_ fifties-

“I’m forty- _five.”_

“Black hair, _this_ tall and speaks in grunt-

“I do not _grunt_.”

“Emotionally constipated-

“ _Tim.”_

 _“_ Fine, fine. I’m going, I’m going.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos, comments and bookmarks are always welcome and appreciated 💖


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